


trying to find my place in the world, and then i found it with you

by hcrlaws



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, theon doesn’t feel like theon until sansa, theon still dies, very soft but sad ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 08:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20617766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hcrlaws/pseuds/hcrlaws
Summary: Theon doesn’t truly feel like ‘Theon’ throughout his life. He constantly battles with who he is and where he belongs.Until Sansa.





	trying to find my place in the world, and then i found it with you

**Author's Note:**

> And so Theonsa week is upon us! Very excited to publish all my work for it and read all of yours!

**1\. Identity**

Theon had been six when Maron had held the blade of his finest dagger against his throat, little eyes wide and filling with tears as he stared up at his older brother. Theon still remembered the smell of ale in Maron’s breath, the sound of the drunken laughter coming from behind him from Rodrik as the evilest of the two, leaned down to whisper into his face, the breath causing Theon’s nose to turn up in disgust. 

_ You don’t belong in this family. You are too soft.  _

The blade had pushed into his throat, causing Theon to let out a strangled cry. Maron and Rodrik cursed, drunkenly stumbling away down the hallway before their mother could make an appearance. Alannys loved all of her children, even found a piece of herself to love the two sons that caused nothing but grey hairs and high blood pressure. 

But Theon was her baby. And if she found out they had made him cry again, they’d be in trouble.  _ Again.  _

“Theon?”

The child was curled up on the floor, back resting against the stone wall with his knees up to his chin, hiding his face into them when his mother came rushing around the corner, holding up her skirts.

“Oh my baby… what happened?” 

Resting down onto her knees in front of him, long brunette hair pushed behind her ears, Alannys reached her hands out and took her youngest into her lap, rocking him back and forth.

Theon couldn’t even get the words to form and come out past his trembling lips, sniffling and sobbing, covering his mother’s pretty dress in the colours of her house covered in his sadness.

All he knew was that Maron and Rodrik didn’t love him. He didn’t belong. He was no Greyjoy.

Theon had never felt like he belonged from the moment he stepped foot onto the snow that covered the grounds of Winterfell. 

Always felt like an outsider, always reminded he was not a Stark— Even if he so badly wanted to be a Stark. Always reminded that he didn’t belong.

But at least Theon had Robb. Or he did have Robb. He had Robb as a  _ friend.  _ As much as they liked to call each other brother, they were not brother’s. Not real ones. Not like Robb and Jon.

It angered Theon. He didn’t really hate Jon. He had nothing against the guy, apart from he was closer to Robb than he would ever be. He was closer to being a Stark than Theon would ever be. 

Jon had so much, so much more than he liked to whine about. That also angered Theon. Jon had a loving family. He had a father who loved him, brothers that loved him, even sisters that loved him. Though Jon did not have a mother that loved him, he had a lot more than Theon. 

Jon could feel safe. Jon could walk around Winterfell and call it  _ home.  _ Jon didn’t have a sword hanging over his head.

_ “Cause it’s not your house.” _

Theon was not a Greyjoy. Theon was not a Stark. 

Balon had always been particularly harsh on Theon and Theon only. The older man always had a distaste for his youngest son and Theon did not know why. 

Balon still had that same distaste for him when Theon came back to Pyke, Robb’s letter clutched in hand. Balon’s lips curled over his teeth as he ripped the golden chain from around Theon’s neck and tossed it into the blazing fire.

So Theon had tried to prove himself. He had tried to prove he was Ironborn, and he was a Greyjoy. Not a Stark. Not a wolf. A kraken.

So he had taken over Winterfell. He had turned his cloak on Robb and burned the letter warning the Stark King of his father’s plans. 

He had chosen blood over water.

The moment that Theon’s eyes landed on the burnt bodies of the young boys, his heart had dropped into his stomach. 

Theon had never known who he was before. Greyjoy or Stark? 

He was neither. 

Theon was a monster. A murderer. A child murderer. 

Theon was no longer Robb’s best friend and brother, but his enemy.

Theon was no longer Theon, though he had never felt like Theon really. 

Theon was now  _ Reek _ .

Reek belonged to Ramsay Bolton. Reek was a freak. 

“ _ Theon.”  _

Reek stared with wide eyes, back pressed against the wall just like when he was a child, shaking his head at the sound of the name. The words tumbled from his lips.

“You shouldn’t be here.” 

He shuffled back, away from her, away from Sansa as she had shifted her weight to another foot. He had thought she would hit him, maybe kill him right there.

She just turned and left Reek alone.    
  


Theon had never truly felt like Theon until Myranda had pointed her arrow at Sansa’s heart, ready to make the shot. He saw her fingers move, ready to lose the bow, and he just reacted.

He hadn’t realised what he had done until the sound of her head hitting the ground cracked through him, sending shivers through his bones. 

Sansa was beside him, staring down at the sight as well. Neither of them moved, neither knowing what to do until the sound of the gates opening and Ramsay returning hit, and they ran.

Their hands clasped together, both shaking, eyes wide. Sansa’s eyes were on him, focused.

_ I trust you. _

And so they jumped. And they ran again.

Sansa’s arms were around him, and he finally allowed himself to relax into her touch, even using his hand on her shoulder to pull her closer to him, head down as he takes in the scent of Sansa. 

They sat at dinner that night, before the fight, not a word shared between them. But their eyes were focused on one another, never leaving. There was a ghost of a smile on Sansa’s lips.

The horn had blown and the moment had ended, Sansa instantly tensing at the battle upon them. 

They had hugged again before departing, a small kiss pressed to his cheek and to her forehead. 

Theon’s had lingered. He was not coming back.   
  


Stood in the Godswood, the Night King had just arrived, staring with icy blue eyes. Theon felt his blood run cold as he faces him off, spear held in hand.

_ You were exactly where you were supposed to be. _

Taking one last look toward Bran, Theon began to run.

_ Home. _

The sweat ran down his neck. 

_ You’re a Greyjoy. And you’re a Stark. You don’t have to choose. _

Tears covered his vision and made it harder for him to see. 

_ You are Theon Greyjoy. _

He was closer now. But he no longer felt fear. 

_ Last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy. _

Sansa’s soft voice was filling his mind, calming his body, taking away the fear and replacing with courage.

_ Lord of the Iron Islands. _

The Night King had struck him, right through the gut. Theon could feel his mouth filling with blood, his lungs collapsing. Breathing harder.

_ Do you hear me?  _

His eyes met the Night King’s. Full of tears, but no fear. Courage. Greyjoy’s do not feel fear.

_ Theon, I want you to remember who you are. When you go out there, remember you are Theon Greyjoy.  _

He hit the ground, snow cushioning the blow. Tears streamed down his cheeks, blood pouring from his mouth and into the white snow of Winterfell.

_ You are brave, gentle and strong. _

He closed his eyes, even abled a smile on his lips as he took a moment to think of Sansa.

Sansa had helped him remember who he was. Sansa helped him find his true identity. 

Theon’s heart gave out just as Arya arrived. 

But he died with that smile on his lips, peaceful.

_ I am Theon Greyjoy. I’m a Greyjoy and a Stark. Sansa helped me remember.  _   
  



End file.
